Superman: Retribution
by Gammer
Summary: It has been one year since Superman premiered to the people of Metropolis and crime it at an all new low. The Man of Steel has made many friends and allies in Metropolis but many enemies as well, enemies who will do anything for a fair shot at revenge, a shot Lex Luthor is all too wiling to give. Retribution is coming for Superman...


Superman: Retribution

Chapter 1: Rush Hour

_Disclaimer: All characters and images belong to D.C. comics _

The morning rush hour in the city of Metropolis was a competitive and sometimes deadly sport. Cars, bikes, buses, and every other vehicle with wheels all ventured out of the six boroughs that divided the titanic city and made their daily pilgrimage to the central hub of the town, New Troy. By 8am each morning, the Metropolis Speed Way, built by mogul Lex Luthor, became a congested artery begging for bypass surgery. Jams went as far as ten miles both ways, with the crimson red of tail lights overwhelming the orange-red of the morning sun. That is if drivers were able to see the sun through the cloud of smog and exhaust that hovered over them. Horns from the countless cars trapped on crowded speed way echoed across the river and throughout the boroughs of the city. A saying had emerged among Metropolis citizens that a child could learn to tell time by the sound of the car horns.

Attempts to avoid this scramble by driving on the main roads, netted the same result. The traffic signals seemed only to agree when it came to delaying commuters from their destinations. When the green lights finally came into sync, the road was often blocked by a flood of pedestrians who seemed to overlook the aggravated drivers and their own absent-minded timing. This often resulted in even more blaring horns and in some unfortunate cases, hit and runs. However remarkably it had been reported that only 1% of Metropolis hit and runs ended up as fatal.

For many Metropolis citizens, rush hour was the hell hour. Traffic had ceased to be a legitimate excuse to be late for work. Many bosses recommended that the employees look for alternate routes to work or to try public transportation, or even to leave their houses earlier. This led to another saying among Metropolis citizens that rush hour traffic rose with the sun. In Metropolis rush hour was a work day in and of itself, with no wages or salary as their reward for braving its dangers.

For Clark Kent, rush hour was the most relaxing time of the day.

Rush hour was the few times in the day he could be still with no consequences or anything at stake. At the Daily Planet, if any body was still, deadline or otherwise, they would feel the wrath of the enthusiastic Perry White. As Superman, remaining still during a crime meant a bystander could get hurt. But here, in his unassuming turquoise Dodge, Clark was just one of the thousands trying to get to work. Granted he could easily pass over all this traffic. Flying and super speed has its advantages after all. But then each had its own downsides as well.

Flying, as enjoyable as it was often brought up uncomfortable questions from his coworkers, Lois Lane especially. His first month in Metropolis, Clark figured that flying would get him to work faster. He was correct in that sense but arriving before the ever punctual Perry White raised eyebrows. Within the first hour of the work day he was swarmed by his coworkers asking which road he took to avoid the roads and what time he left. Lois went on to ask him what time he had breakfast. At the time all Clark could come up with was that he just got lucky. His coworkers had just groaned and assumed he didn't want to share his secret route with anybody else. Running to work also brought another issue. The biggest being the idea of a gray blur racing across Metropolis and entering the Daily Planet building. It was unlikely that an average citizen would notice his detailed features but the idea that every morning and afternoon some strange gray blur whizzed through New Troy, coming to and from the Daily Planet would definitely raise some questions. That and as Clark had found out during his teen years, his body might be immune to the intense friction that super speed caused, but his clothes were not. He had learned that lesson the hard way. Clark chuckled as his car inched forward. One day in Smallville he was late to school and decided to run to class. By the time he got there, his t-shirt and shorts had burned off. How his underwear remained intact, Clark still questioned. The kids in his class would forever retell that incident until his high school years. But even now, Lana would still bring it up on occasion.

Clark peered out his window and saw that the jam went on for another 12 miles. The journalist merely shrugged and flipped on his radio, another advantage driving had over flying. A light jazz tune welcomed Clark to the morning hour programs. The song was a slow tenor saxophone dominated tune with some light piano in the background. While the music was beautiful, all it did was remind Clark that he hadn't slept in over five days. He could feel the fatigue he had worked to suppress stab at the corner of his eyes, making his eyelids heavy. A yawn passed through his mouth, making him lean back against his seat and continue the slow inch across the speed way. Sleep was something that Clark didn't need much of but still needed. As he had discovered in his college years where staying up all night was the norm, he could go a full week with no sleep and only feel the effects of going one day without it. An hour or two was all he needed to get back to full energy with the sun taking care of the rest. At least that was in college.

As Superman, his abilities were needed at every hour, every day and at any moment and not just in Metropolis. Countries as far as New Zealand required his assistance. Just last night alone within his first hour on patrol he had to fly to Normandy, France to stop an out of control fire that threatened the countryside. Next he was in Beijing stopping an avalanche, after that was Sweden to stop a rampaging gunman who had stormed a bank and just started shooting. A collapsed mine in Chile was his next stop and then he was back in America, in California to stop a wildfire started by an insane arsonist. As Clark had found out when he first became Superman, flying at near breakneck speed every evening took a toll on even his stamina. One week without sleep now equaled three days worth of fatigue. The sun still restored his powers of course but it could not replace a good hour or two of R.E.M. sleep.

Clark shook his head, hoping that he could shake off the fatigue as well. If some fatigue was his price for fulfilling his purpose then so be it. The good of humanity was worth a few sleepless weeks. Clark changed he station on his radio and came upon 95.9.

"Gooooood Moooooring Metropolis!" a female's crass voice blared. "It's your favorite girl, Leslie Willis with your Morning Spice." A riff from an electric guitar followed, indicated the start of the show. "Our topic today, as it always is, the Big Blue Cheese ball himself!"

Clark sighed and turned off the radio. He saw his exit in the distance and moved to the adjoining lane. Maybe he should start flying to work again.

OOOOO

Rudy Jones hated the morning rush hour. From his mother's house in Midvale to STAR labs in New Troy was 40 miles, which with Metropolis traffic, translated to about an hour by car. That is, if Rudy owned a car. By bike his commute took two hours on the best days. Two hours of watching spoiled brats run around on their tablets posting useless thing on Facebook and not watching where they were going. Two hours of seeing fat cats in their suits drive past him and nearly run him over without a second glance.

Rudy biked down Reeve Avenue, his legs already aching from the prior hour. He could feel his sweat pressed against the rim of his helmet. Dark circles formed under his armpits, ruining another uniform. It would cost another forty bucks to get a new one. Rudy gritted his teeth. He never understood why the STAR lab executives decided that every employee, even the cleaning crew, had to wear white. Were they not aware of the chemicals employees handled on a daily basis? Did they not know how easy it was to ruin a white shirt? If so why, make it so damn expensive to get a new one? It just a stupid polo shirt with STAR labs sewed onto the lapel. But then what did they care about it? All the scientists and their assistants had almost six figure salaries from contracts and grants. What was a few extra dollars for new uniforms to them?

They didn't have to suffer from this hell commute each morning and evening. They didn't have to figure out how to get by on $8.50 an hour in a city like Metropolis. No all they had to worry about was how best to apply some new formula gibberish for maximum profit and to hell with guys like him.

A red light halted Rudy's daily odyssey for the time being. Twelve cars lingered in front, blasting Rudy with a fresh dose exhaust and fuel that was sure to cover up the smell of his sweat on his shirt.

He was trapped on Reeve Avenue, named after some big name movie star. Naming it after a star had been fitting, the entire street was covered with nothing but high end condos only Metropolis's elite could afford. The buildings save for the numbers all resembled each other. They all looked like high class hotels, complete with the ass kissing doorman at the entrance. Rudy had read that some girl had bought a $500,000 apartment on this road using only cash. The daughter of some Russian oil mogul he had read. Rudy gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his handle bars. Dumb broad! Her only accomplishment in life was being born to a wealthy father. She probably never even heard of the word "work" or "minimum wage" or "rent overdue." No she lived in her own world of luxury and comfort.

No doubt she would never need to slog through the abyss that was Metropolis rush hour.

A loud horn blare snapped Rudy out of his thoughts.

"Move it you little shit!" the driver behind him yelled. Rudy glanced at the car, it was a firey read Corvette. The latest model Rudy had seen on TV. It was supposed to cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. It figures the man behind the wheel was an asshole. It was always the assholes that got ahead. Leaving guys like him in the dust. If he had just a fifth of that kind of money…..

Another horn fired off, this time from the five cars behind him.

Rudy shot them a glare before starting to peddle. The driver in front of him was taking his sweet time. Rudy wished he could honk something. The traffic behind him quickly switched to the left lane and zoomed past the bike rider, blinding him in their exhaust. By the time Rudy's bearings had returned, he was met with a red light.

Rudy could only groan as a chorus of horns and yells fired at him.

Maybe he should look into public transportation.

OOOOO

Metropolis First National bank sparkled like a lost diamond in the eyes of John Corben. Even through a pair of dim binoculars and watching from three rooftops away did not hinder the building's beauty. Designed using ancient Roman architecture, the bank with its round shape, pristine white stone walls and tall columns made it stand out within the more sleeker and new age buildings of the grand city.

Corben could only guess what was on the inside. He could never meet the bank's deposit minimum to open an account. What he did know was that inside that bank were the fortunes of every Metropolis elite and business mogul. The accounts of Lex Luthor, Bruce Wayne, and Oliver Queen all just sat there, just waiting to be taken.

Corben adjusted the focus of his binoculars to the revolving door in the front. Two armored cars had just pulled up each one guarded by six of Metropolis's finest. The two burly security guards near the front entrance helped them carry the metallic boxes that were no doubt filled with cash, diamonds and other valuables. He pulled out his phone to check the time. 9 o'clock. Rush hour was nearing its end. He just needed to be patient. By lunchtime the traffic in the bank would slow and that would be the time to strike.

He tapped his ear, activating the communicator.

"It's Corben, Nigma are you in position?" Corben frowned before adding, "And for God's sake try not to answer in the form of riddle."

"You're not fun, Corben," Edward Nigma's nasally voice replied on the other end. "What's a heist without a good brain teaser to keep the mind fresh and alert?"

"Forget the brain teasers," Corben's other associate, Jack Napier said. "How about a good joke?"

Corben groaned. "No. No riddles, no jokes! Just do your jobs!"

Nigma sighed. "Very well Mr. Corben."

"Party pooper," Napier groaned.

Corben closed his radio line and was tempted to hurl his binoculars. Idiots! The both of them! No sense of professionalism or focus between them. It was always brain teasers this or riddle me that. Still they were the only two, who were crazy enough to go along with this heist, he should be thankful for that.

A buzz on his phone alerted him and when he saw the name, Cathleen, Corben could feel his rage returning. He answered it knowing full well, the whore wouldn't stop calling until he did.

"What Cathleen? I'm at work."

"Well that brings back memories," Cathleen's shrill voice stabbed in his ears. "What bar are you at during this hour? Have you sent anyone to the hospital yet?"

Corben gritted his teeth but continued to look through his binoculars for any changes. "What do you want?"

"Your alimony payment is late this month."

"That's it!" he roared. "That's why you interrupt my work? So you track me down like some back room landlord?"

"Well unlike some people, I actually need that money!"

"What for? For another all expense paid trip to Hawaii? So you get another five-star massage in Central City?"

"Says the man who always spent his paychecks getting drunk!"

Corben slammed his thumb on end call and this time he did hurl his phone against the floor. He could afford twenty more with the money from this heist. He returned to his diligent watch of Metropolis bank but not before contacting his associates once more.

"Gentlemen," he said over the line. "Never get married."

"No need to worry about that," Nigma chuckled.

"I have wife," Napier said. "She left a scar on my face; you want to know how I got it?"

"Later, Jack," Corben said ending the call before the idiot could finish.

Corben returned to his diligent surveillance of the bank. Soon, very soon, he wouldn't have to worry about anything at all.

OOOOO

For Leslie Willis, rush hour was the most profitable part of the day. According to the radio station's numbers, her show "The Morning Spice" was number one in the timeslot with listeners returning to the program 85% of the time. In less than a year she had skyrocketed to the number one morning radio show in Metropolis. Leslie passed her tongue over two lip pricings as a red light on her dashboard signaled it was time to return from their ads.

"And we're back!" she announced over her mic. "Returning to our favorite topic, Metropolis's favorite Super-Dork. First of all I can't be the only one who thinks loser when I see that primary color onslaught. I mean red tighty whities on the outside? If I'm a crook, you'll have to forgive me if I bust out laughing instead of surrendering when he swoops in to save the day."

Already her dashboard lit up with callers in response. Most likely to tell her how wrong she was about the city's favorite boy scout. According to her critics she was "brash", "abrasive", "disrespectful" and "indecent." Leslie looked over the vast sea of flashing red that were her incoming calls and just laughed as she lit up a cigarette. Her producers tapped on the glass of the booth trying to warn remind her of their stupid no smoking rule.

Leslie continued with her broadcast ready to take calls. It was going to be a good day.

OOOOO

Lex Luthor sat in his limo as Mercy barreled down the all but empty private highway. It hadn't taken much effort to create. All he had to do was build some new public speedway under the "noble" cause of lessening traffic and car accidents on the roads. The government gladly gave him the money required to create the now congested Metropolis Speed Way. This left the original highway free for him to use as his own personal route to Lexcorp, liberated from the limbo that was Metropolis Rush hour. The mayor and the governor tried to stop him of course, saying that it was "unethical" to hog an entire highway. But the good thing about having allies in the government was the sheer amount of…."private information" Luthor learned about them. Many of which would ruin careers if the public ever learned about them, The moment Luthor had brought up this point, the governor and mayor were very willing to let him keep his new personal highway.

Mercy flipped through various radio stations before stopping on his favorite, Leslie Willis's "Morning Spice", as she spoke with one of his contacts. Once again the crass young woman was taking shots at Metropolis "favorite son", a topic Luthor could always support.

"Bad news Lex," Mercy said as she finished the phone call.

"What is it?"

"The shipment to STAR labs tonight has been cancelled."

Luthor sighed. "And why is that?"

"Why do you think? No one wants to do a smuggling run with our big blue flyboy catching every criminal in town."

_Superman _. It had only been a year since that annoyance showed up and already his business pursuits were decreasing. He had been assuming at first, saving children from fires, rescuing cats in trees, stopping suicidal jumpers and catching falling airplanes. Luthor saw fit to just ignore that pretentious goody-two-shoes until a weakness could be found or until the city got bored of him. Neither occurred. Instead, the city couldn't get enough of him. In only three months, Superman was everywhere. Shirts, shoes, buttons, you name it, it his face was slapped on it. The success must have gotten to his head because that was when he began to extend his hand into Luthor's business pursuits.

"That caped fool is making it difficult to make a living," Luthor said as he rubbed down a vein.

Mercy took the exit that would take them to Lexcorp. "How do you want to handle this?"

"Get the captain on the phone again and tell him he has shipped far worse for me than this batch of chemicals. If all else fails, dump the merchandise."

"Lex won't that contaminate the river? This chemical hasn't been tested in water."

"Since when are you a conservationist, Mercy?"

"I only meant that it wouldn't be a good PR look for you."

Luthor chuckled. "There's no need to worry about that. If the captain is fool enough to dump the chemical, Lexcorp can place all the blame on him and his disreputable smuggle operation. This leaves me open to launch some river cleanup campaign that will gain Lexcorp millions of dollars worth of contributions and donations and better PR within the city is always an advantage."

Mercy scoffed. "Sounds like you thought of everything."

"It's a rare gift. Now any word from Professor Vale about the exoskeleton?"

"He says that everything is complete, they just need six months for testing."

"Unacceptable. Make it two months with a human subject."

"Where are they going to get someone willing to fuse with a robot body?"

"Mercy, this is Metropolis, where the poor will do just about anything for just a fifth of the money and power men in my position have. They are an unlimited well of resources just begging to be drawn from by someone like me. I'll be able to find him a willing test subject by lunch."

Mercy pulled out her Blackberry and began to type a note when she stopped at a red light. "Anything else?"

"Yes notify Professor Hamilton, I want a status report on that green rock we were led to three months ago."

She made another note. "Got it. I still don't see what's so important about a green rock."

"At the moment, neither do I, but a source tells this could be the answer to our red caped friend."

"I don't think a weird e-mail from some unknown company counts as a reliable source."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing I don't pay you to think."

Mercy sighed and pulled into Lexcorp's parking garage. "We're here."

"Thank you, I had a hard time deducing that for myself. Now make sure to send those messages."

Mercy gave him a mock salute as she exited the limo. "Yes sir."

The moment she was gone, Luthor opened his laptop and examined the two e-mails with "the answer to your Superman problem" as the subject line for what had to be the 40'th time. Luthor was no man's fool. Nothing ever just dropped in someone's lap with no price or some end attached to it. The e-mail address was labeled only "B". Even his best hackers and analyzers couldn't crack whatever code the sender used to hide himself. The first message contained specs to a highly advanced humanoid robot built with the strongest metals that could be found on Earth. The next was the location to an asteroid that when Luthor's people examined it revealed a strange green rock at the meteor's core. According to the messages, the rock could be used to power the robot. But no computer could handle the advanced movements needed to bring it to its full potential.

Luthor stared at the messages for what had to be another twenty minutes. There were so many ways he could play this and so many ways he could be played. At first he was unwilling to even acknowledge the existence of the messages until he forwarded the specs to STAR lab's Professor Vale. The doctor, according to Mercy, nearly wet his pants in excitement. Never before had he seen such advanced and plausible robotics. When the professor said it could be built, Luthor concluded that there wasn't much to lose in at least seeing how far the doctor could go with it. But while Luthor waited, his less than reputable business ventures were decreasing thanks to Metropolis newest celebrity.

Luthor narrowed his eyes at the thought. He needed a human test subject and fast.

It was time to see what this Man of Steel was really capable of.

AN: So this is my very first Superman story. This is something that I've always wanted to write or see a movie of, but what really set me into motion to write this was conversation with my roommates who insist that making a good Superman story is impossible because there's nothing to his character and he's too powerful. I am hoping to prove them wrong. This chapter was really more of an introduction so sorry if it was on the slow side, I'm still trying to get acclimated to writing Superman characters, I hope I did them justice. Anyways, be sure to tell me what you think, good or bad, and I'll see you for the next installment.


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